


Ship & Compass

by barelyhipster18



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Genderbending, Larry Stylinson Is Real, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:29:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2817224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barelyhipster18/pseuds/barelyhipster18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis meets Harry on accident. Louis doesn't think that much & Harry thinks too much. Louis likes FIFA & loud music while Harry works at a museum & isn't afraid to bend gender rolls a little. Both are trying to find themselves, but instead they find each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was seated in the corner, tucked into a booth by himself. His eyes hung heavy on the pages of a worn book, it’s spine hanging dangerously by a few worn threads. The only thing in front of him was an empty cup and the remaining crust from the pizza he had had for lunch. It was had grown cold long ago but the boy remained in the booth. The curve of his pink lips was pulled over his bottom front teeth, his top teeth gently biting down into the supple skin. Louis watched as his eyes scanned the pages as if they were searching for something. 

“Why don’t you just talk to ‘em?” Lottie nudge her brother and he snapped back to reality. They were sitting in the booth of the university dining hall. Lottie had come to visit, bringing snacks and books he had forgotten last time he was home. Louis scowled at her ridiculous remark.

“Oh, you reckon sis? You do talk some shit.” Is all he could mutter before the boy who was sitting in the booth was now was standing up, brushing the crumbs from the table and walking in their direction. He carefully balanced the book under his arm and carried his plate along with his empty cup. Louis’ eyes dashed away and he felt the burn of his cheeks getting hot with redness. 

“He’s, uh, super pretty.” Lottie said after he had walked by. She too had noticed his shiny hair and the way his cheeks were a gentle peach color. Louis’ hands were sweating and he nervously wiped them on his faded skinny jeans, he was too busy trying to stop the terrifying pounding in his chest to answer her. 

Before he could mutter a real response to the conversation, she had moved on and was going off about her plans for the weekend. Visiting the city and going to Nan’s and taking the twins to the museum. Louis brushed her off and thought about the curly haired boy from the booth, wondering what he was reading and what kind of pizza he liked. Did he drink soy milk or regular milk? These were the questions that plagued Louis’ mind for the first time and they were all too over whelming. He instantly wanted a cigarette. 

The rest of the day was a steady null. Louis had dropped Lottie back off at the train station and was headed to Zayn’s, hopefully for a night of FIFA and maybe a few bong hits. Nursing his steaming hot Earl Grey tea in his left hand all awhile fumbling for keys in the bottom of his backpack. Zayn had bestowed upon him his one spare key to the building and for some reason Louis had an uncanny ability for losing it. He was still reaching under the mess of forgotten assignments and unused text books when his body was being slammed into another, the brutally hot tea he had been carrying being spilled down both his shirt and the person he had run into. 

“God damn it!” Louis yelped. He dropped the now empty mug on the sidewalk as his other hand, ironically, wrapped around the keychain that contained Zayn’s flat key in the bottom of his bag. He looked up to see who he had run into and consequently spilled all of his tea on when his breath caught in his lungs all the while feeling like it had been vacuumed out of him by an industrial sized vacuum. His eyes caught green and he felt his shoulders immediately tense up under the weight of his heavy winter jacket and book bag. Before Louis knew it, words were tumbling out of his mouth like an avalanche after a stick of dynamite.   
“I’m so sorry, fuck, I’m so stupid, I-shit-I’m so sorry.” His eyes were locked on the curly haired boy’s glowing emerald eyes. Louis tried desperately to remove his gaze but it was like a padlock he didn’t have the combination to. He was relieved when the other boy spoke. 

“No, no, I’m the clumsy one. Shouldn’ta been reading this book and walking. I can barely walk as is.” The boy closed his book, sticking it in his own book bag and looked at the hot tea stain that continued to dribble down the front of his black coat and the crisp white button down he had under it. It was the first time Louis was able to break the intense gaze between them and Louis could see the outline of a butterfly tattoo where his white shirt adhered to his evenly bronzed skin. His shoulders hunched slightly, as if he was trying to avoid running into more people, although the street was nearly empty. It was 5 and most people had gone home to their families to eat, or whatever families did at night. Louis wasn’t really sure. What he was sure of, though, was that this boy was beautiful. Not beautiful in a sexy hot kind of way, but a subtle pretty way. His lips were just a little pink and his eye lashes were a little longer than normal. Louis couldn’t tell, but it looked like he was wearing the same kind of blush his sister wore on her cheeks.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry mate. I’ll pay to get that dry cleaned or whatever. Where were you headed?” Louis tried his best to be casual but he had to shove his hands into his coat pockets because they were shaking and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from the cold. It was uncharacteristic for him to be the nervous one. He didn’t get nervous.

“Uh, headed to an interview actually.” The boy stammered and chewed on his bottom lip nervously. He hadn’t made eye contact with Louis since Louis had broken it and he felt somewhat crushed by that. He felt sorry for the kid and it dawned on him that he was nearly 20 yards from Zayn’s front door and if anyone dressed well, it was Zayn. 

“Gosh, I’m sorry. I was just headed to my friends house. He lives in there,” Louis pointed to the apartment building behind him, “If you’d like, I can run in and grab you a shirt. I’m sure Zayn wouldn’t mind.” The boy checked his watch and shrugged one shoulder then nodded twice. His face was contorted like he was sorry that Louis had run into him and spilled his tea on him. 

“If it’s ok. I don’t want to be a hassle.” He looked at Louis, his chin down and his eyes wide. He batted his eyelashes a few times and Louis felt his heart start to race again. 

“Yeah, uh, no it’s my fault, follow me. What’d you say your name was?” Louis asked as he lead the way towards the building. He was starting to feel the freezing tea stain on his chest and it was uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as the way his palms were sweating and his stomach lurched when turned around to look at the boy.

“My name’s Harry, um, Styles.” 

“Nice to meet you Harry, I’m Louis. Friends call me Lewis, family calls me Louie. Whatever floats your boat.” He slipped the key into Zayn’s flat door and pushed it open. Zayn was sitting on the couch in a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt. “And this, Harry, is Zayn.” 

“What’s happenin'.” Zayn nodded once and continued playing his game of FIFA. He talked into the headset to what Louis assumed was Liam but didn’t look over to see who was at the door.   
“I know better than to distract ‘em from a game of footie. Follow me.” Louis urged Harry to follow him and it took a few seconds before Harry got his body to follow the mental instructions he was desperately sending it. His feet worked awkwardly and he walked almost pigeon toed in his stark white converse. They swept over the floor soundlessly though, like he was too scared to make a noise.

Louis wandered into Zayn’s room, his closet wide open and bursting with clothing. He grabbed a few things and turned around to face Harry who was leaning nervously against the door. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his black jeans. Louis couldn’t help but notice the way his long eyelashes dusted the very tops of his cheeks. 

“I-uh, dunno if you want a sweater or what. You can really pick for yourself.” Harry walked over and glanced at what Louis had grabbed from the closet and set on the bed, a suggestion. Louis suddenly realized that he had picked out items that he would wear: a striped sweater, a grey t-shirt, a red dress shirt. He shoved them back in the closet, embarrassed that he had even tried to suggest something for the beautiful curly haired boy to wear. 

“May I, uh, look?” Harry asked cautiously, approaching the closet. He seemed hesitant about even walking on the plush carpet and took light steps, as if trying to step lightly would convince Louis that he wasn’t even there.

“Yeah, yeah. Go for it. Have at it.” Louis scolded himself for saying the last part. He was trying to sound cool but was sounding like a proper knob head, really. Louis sat on the foot on Zayn’s bed and watched as Harry slid a few hangers around, carefully pulling a few things out but returning them back to their respectful places looking as if they had been untouched. Louis watched Harry’s long arms as they worked. They were long and thin but he could see the crease of his muscle under his shirt sleeve. He was holding an oversized dark blue sweater and a strange print button down when he turned around and faced Louis, an amused grin on his face. 

“Which one?” He asked, his eyes lighting up and a smile forming on his pink lips. Louis cocked his head to the side and pretended he was thinking. The sweater didn’t seem formal enough and the print shirt looked a bit feminine, if he was being honest.

“The sweater.” Was his response and he saw Harry’s eyes drop a little as he slipped the printed shirt back onto the hanging rod. He got a feeling Harry was hoping he would suggest the latter. “But, I mean, the print is nice. And it’s a bit more formal than the sweater. What’s this interview for exactly?” 

Harry’s face lit up like a Christmas tree and he immediately grabbed the shirt once again, returning the sweater in place. Louis found it interesting that the boy had a strange preference for the shirt but he didn’t mind. He had never seen anything wrong with dressing a little quirky, and the boy certainly was able to pull it off with his mop of brown locks and his ever batting eyelashes. 

“It’s for a job at the museum.” Is all he offered in return. He said it with an air of lightness in his voice. Harry slipped his coat off, hanging it on the corner of the closet door, and unbuttoned his shirt. He turned around, as if he was hiding something from Louis but Louis could still see a few tattoos on his shoulders and on the back of his left arm. His back was muscular and the way his shoulders moved was almost mesmerizing to Louis. He was lean and trim except for the small but of softness around his hips. He tried not to stare, in case the boy turned around, but he found there was no other place to look. “I know everyone thinks museums are lame, but I like em.” Harry finished.

Harry turned around, the shirt was only half way buttoned but it fit him nicely. It made his long torso look trim. He seemed genuinely pleased with his appearance and the way his eyes puckered when he smiled made Louis stomach flip flop a few times. He folded his partially tea-soaked shirt and stuck it in his bag.

“Museums are cool. I think, at least.” Louis only sort of lied. He hadn’t been to a museum out of free will in nearly 7 or 8 years he reckoned. Harry nodded once in approval, a slight grin on his face. Louis didn’t have the heart to admit he didn’t understand the appeal of museums. 

“Thank you for letting me borrow this shirt. Or, uh, tell Zayn thank you. I really feel bad.” Harry had retorted back into himself and Louis could sense the way he was putting himself back on the lower hand of the conversation. 

“It’s no problem. Lad’s got so many clothes he doesn’t know what to do with em all. Obviously.” Louis motioned at the large array of clothing that was strewn around the room. He managed to stand up, letting Harry lead the way out. 

“I, uh, should get going though. I still have to catch a train to the other side of town.” 

“Yeah, I get it.” Louis opened the door for him. His stomach was still in knots and being so close to Harry only seemed to make it worse. He wasn’t sure if the remedy was to step closer or to step away. He got the fleeting feeling Harry wanted him to step away, so he took a small step back letting the door open wider. Harry bowed his head down, grinning to his shoes and started out the door. 

“Hey-wait!” Louis called down the hall. He grabbed his iPhone from his back pocket. “I should get your number, just in case.” He didn’t know what that case might be. But it was the only excuse he could muster before the Harry was walking out the front door and possibly out of his life for good, and that was something Louis knew he didn’t want to happen.

“Yeah, uh,” Harry did a little jog and back tracked, meeting Louis halfway down the hall. He typed his number and name into his phone and sent a quick text to himself. He held the phone down in front of him, his whole body hunched over it, and Louis could almost smell his hair. If he had wanted, he could reach out and touch it, but he didn’t dare. 

“Thanks. And hey, good luck. I’m sure you’ll do great.” Louis grinned and patted Harry on the back before he walked away. Louis kicked himself because all he could come up with was ‘I’m sure you’ll do great.’ Louis was sure Harry would do more than great. Harry flashed a smile at him, the corners of his eyes creasing softly before he walked out the front door. All Louis caught was a soft “Thanks.” before Harry was once again swept into the foot traffic of London.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to switch between Louis' and Harry's point of view.

Harry’s phone felt like a burning meteor he had picked up and stupidly pocketed. His fingers itched to check it but sitting in the middle of an art gala was not the time or place. It was bad enough he was terribly under dressed for the occasion but he didn’t know what he was walking into after he had left his interview and into the main atrium. There were champagne flutes being twirled around on trays and most of the men in the room were wearing suit coats. He desperately searched for the nearest exit. 

He was meandering aimlessly through the people, eyes focused in on a side exit when someone caught his arm. He instantly recognized the man as Zayn, who had been playing FIFA not only two hours ago on a couch on the other side of town.

“Hey! You’re Harry, yeah? And that’s my shirt!” He was gleaming at Harry. His dark locks were carefully gelled back and bright brown eyes. Before Harry knew what was happening, Zayn was leading him by the elbow in the exact opposite direction Harry had been hoping to go. 

“Uh, yes. Um, I’m Harry. Thank you for letting me borrow it. I didn’t know you were, uh, part of..” Harry made a gesture towards all of the well dressed people and the large show going on, “all this.” Zayn himself was wearing all black from head to toe, black button down and black skinny jeans. It looked casual. It also looked ridiculously expensive. Almost as expensive as the cologne that wafted towards Harry. It smelled like something they would sell you out of a magazine ad. He suddenly felt very self conscious in his own worn black skinny jeans and Zayn’s weird print shirt. It was unlike any shirt Harry owned, it made it look like he had a natural waist and he like the way the floral was a little girly. Being in a crowd made him noticeably self conscious of this fact.

“Oh yeah, I’m part of the main event, man! By the way, keep the shirt. Looks much better on you than me. I look like a woman. You look hot.” Zayn patted him on the back and handed him a flute of bubbly yellowish liquid. Harry carefully took it in one hand, his eye catching on the clear polish that was chipping off his index finger. He flinched but managed to put the glass to his lips. Zayn was snaking through the people, giving a few ‘hey’s and ‘hi’s as he went along. He glanced over his shoulder and Harry stumbled forward, trying to follow. 

Zayn lead them to a slightly less packed room with large abstract paintings and dog sculptures positions around the floor. They were painted in various styles, a name plaque in front of each promoting the artist who had painted it. Zayn stood in front of a green dog. It looked as if it had been painted to look like the Green Lantern and Gromit the dog put together. 

“It’s mine!” He patted it on it’s head as if it were a real dog. “I got asked to paint it a while ago, didn’t think much of it. But look at the turn out!” Zayn was ecstatic and Harry couldn’t help but smile at him. Zayn had sharp features, unlike anyone Harry had ever seen before. If Jesus was to waltz into the 21st century, Harry was sure he would look like Zayn. In addition, Zayn made Harry feel somewhat relaxed. The calming effect was enough for Harry to spit out a few words in utterance. 

“It looks really good! I can’t believe you did that. What’s this all for, anyways?” Harry tried to make small talk but it was never something he was good at. He could feel his fingers trembling slightly and he focused on Zayn’s lips as he talked, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. He picked at the clear coat on his one finger, chipping it slightly. He was thankful Louis hadn’t spilled tea on his jeans or else he would have had to find a way to explain the striped pair of tight briefs under his jeans that may or may not have passed as men’s. 

“Charity event. I’m friends with one of the directors at the museum and they asked me to paint one of these bad boys. Quite exciting, yeh?!” People were walking by, smiling at Zayn and he shook their hands, thanking them for coming to the exhibit. Harry stood by, awkwardly watching. He felt like people were looking at him funny but he always felt like that. The large crowd of people made him feel uneasy but it was a familiar feeling. All too familiar. 

“Wow, well I s’pose I should get going. I, uh, it’s getting late.” Harry made a feeble attempt at excusing himself but Zayn wasn’t having much of it. Harry didn’t have a reason to leave, but he couldn’t help but think he had overstayed his welcome.

“What! No way, we’re going out for drinks after this. The rest of the guys are meeting me here and we’re going to a club a few blocks down. Stay, I insist.” Zayn smirked at him with a face Harry knew he couldn’t say no to. Harry hadn’t been out in months. The last time Gemma had allowed him to tag along, he drank one too many gin and tonics and ended up puking in the gutter outside. He was much more comfortable sitting on their balcony listening to music and writing in his journal or cozying up with a good book. Harry could have easily refused Zayn’s attempts but a part of him nagged, like deep down he wanted to go with them. He couldn’t help but think of Louis and his fierce blue eyes and soft brown hair.

“I, well, do you think they’ll mind if I tag along?” 

“It’s not tagging along, I’m inviting you. There’s a difference. Plus, you’re wearing my clothes. I can tell we’re going to be lads already.” Zayn was being sincere and Harry felt a little bit of the tenseness in his body ease up. Maybe it was the way Zayn put a hand on his shoulder and held him in place, or maybe it was the flute of champagne he had somehow finished without noticing. 

Harry stood with Zayn for a little while longer until Zayn started to get bored and antsy. He pulled out his phone, clicking for a little while before looking around. Harry had forgotten about his phone until now but before he could slip it out of his pocket, Zayn was leading him out.

“They’re here. I don’t think anyone will mind me sneaking out.” He made an ‘oops’ face and pulled Harry along behind him by the elbow, guiding him through a hall and out an exit. Harry wrapped his coat around his body, bracing for the cold winter wind that was about to hit. He was surprised when he stepped outside and the night was calm. If he would have looked up, he would have been able to see the faint glow of the stars, a sight he pined after on long nights in the city. 

Harry’s move from Chesire had been one he wasn’t too happy about. Upon entering University this fall, he had had to move into with his sister after an incident at the school. He wasn’t much for the dorm life and Gemma had an extra room in her flat on the edge of the city. For free, he was allowed to stay there and with the exception of having to picking her up from a bar after a night out, he was able to come and go when he pleased.

“Hey mate!” A tall guy with spiked brown hair approached them, trailed by two shorter guys. He immediately pulled Zayn into a tight embrace. Harry immediately recognized one of them as Louis. His breath caught in his throat, either to avoid the breath of smoke that was coming his way or because he caught eye contact with Louis and even in the dim street lights, his features were perfectly illuminated. Harry admired his high cheekbones and the hollows just below them. He admired the way his eyelashes cast shadows down his face and the way his lips were slightly pursed, like he was about to say something. He was holding a cigarette in his left hand and although Harry adamantly hated smoking, Louis looked almost sexy.

“And Harry! The man of the hour.” The same guy wrapped Harry into a hug and he flinched slightly back. He didn’t seem to notice though, and Harry was thankful or that. “Don’t think we’ve met before. My name’s Liam. This lil’ guy is Niall. And we, are going to Funky Buddha, the place to be.”

“Ha, place to be right!” Niall scoffed. He had a thick Irish accent. 

“Oh shush, we all know you’d rather be at a pub crawl. But I promise you, there are loads of girls and loads of beer. I’m sure we can even find you a mug so you feel at home.” Liam swatted at him and they started bickering back and forth, play fighting on the street. Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off of Louis and it couldn’t be even 30 degrees out but Harry felt warm, like he had just drank a mug of hot cider and was sitting by a fire eating finger sandwiches. 

“I-uh-gotta run and put my bag back at my flat. I can meet you there though?” Harry nodded his head down the street. Gemma’s flat was only two and a half blocks from the museum, just one reason Harry so desperately wanted the job. In addition, he got free entrance to exhibits and that’s where most of his money was going anyhow. 

“Yeah that’s fine.” Zayn said. Harry caught him as he poked a finger in Louis’ side. “Mind letting Lou borrow a sweatshirt? He never brings one and he’s shivering like a scared pup over here.” Louis made a face and rolled his eyes but Harry could tell from the flush of his cheeks that he was cold. 

“Mhmm, that’s ok.” Harry nearly lost his mind over the idea that Louis would wear a jumper of his. They parted ways and Louis walked along him in silence for a while while he finished his cigarette. Harry hated the smell of smoke and desperately tried to hold his breath silently whenever he heard Louis breathe out. 

“You’re shivering.” Harry stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and Louis did a little sidestep, turning around to face him. Before Louis could protest, he was slipping his coat off his broad shoulders and holding it out to him. Louis looked confused, and Harry felt a twinge of embarrassment. He was offering his coat to a boy he hardly knew and wearing a shirt from his friend he knew even less. 

“It’s uh, got a little tea on the front. Some dickhead spilled on my this afternoon.” Harry forced it into his arms and Louis let out a laugh. His eyes crinkled around the corners and he let his mouth fall open. Harry watched in amusement as he slipped it over his shoulders. If he thought his jacket was big, his jumper was going to be even more amusing. 

“Bit big, but it’ll do. Yeah, what a knobhead.” Louis said after they were walking again. Harry had to slow his steps a bit, so Louis could keep up. One stride of his was nearly two of Louis’. Looking down at their feet and they moved swiftly over the cracked pavement, he could tell his feet were a good two, maybe three, sizes bigger than Louis’. He wanted to reach his palm out and compare their hands too but he knew that wasn’t something he could do. Not now, at least. 

“This is it.” Harry took a sharp turn to the right and up to a modern building. “I, um, live with my sister so sorry if it’s a bit messy or girly.” He muttered it under his breath. He hadn’t considered the fact he hadn’t cleaned his room or even warned Gemma he was stopping back, none the less with another guy. It didn’t seem like a possibility, Gemma knew he didn’t hang around with many other people. His closest friend was Georgie from the library. He didn’t live on campus so he didn’t attend the usual university gatherings. Harry had managed to keep his circle of companions quite small over the past nine months. 

Harry let them into the flat. Louis hadn’t said much but Harry heard an inaudible catch of air when he opened the bedroom to his room. It was painted a soft yellow, the walls glowing under lights that were strung around the room. His bed was neatly made up, a few sweaters laid on the bed. The floor was spotless and a plush pink rug was at the foot of the bed across from a book case that stretched the length of the room. It was filled from floor to top with books he had collected at shops and vinyl records for his record player that sat next to his bed. 

“Wow, that’s.. that’s a lot of fucking books.” Louis stood in awe in front of the book case. The only place there weren’t books or records was the middle two shelves that had been removed and replaced with a large flat screen tv. Louis immediately regretted saying fuck in front of Harry but it had slipped out and there was nothing he could do now. 

“Mhmm, still growing I guess.” Harry silently emptied his book bag, returning the worn book of poetry by Oscar Wilde back onto the shelf where he had taken it from this morning. It was small and the spine was nearly falling off but it was one of Harry’s favorite books. He had found it at the market one of the first weekends he was in university. Those were some of his least fond memories of London and he found solace in the worn pages and wise words of his good friend Mister Wilde. 

After throwing his tea stained shirt in the laundry basket and putting on a sweater in exchange for the print shirt that Harry had grown so fond of, he grabbed a few crew neck sweatshirts from the large open wall closet and held them out for Louis who was still admiring his collection of music and literature. He figured his sweatshirts were the only thing Louis would really wear out of his closet. 

“You’ve read all these?” Louis took an Adidas sweatshirt from Harry and slipped it over his head. He had to push the sleeves over his delicate hands and Harry tried not to laugh at how adorable he found Louis wearing such a large jumper. He was nearly swimming in fabric but Harry found himself happy he was so much larger, just so he could see Louis like this.

“Most of them. Some of them I’ve only read part way through, but I’ve read a good portion of them.. If you’d like to borrow one, you can.” He said slowly. It wasn’t something Harry had ever done before, offered his books to a stranger. But then again, here he was offering his clothes and his books. It was like everything had been flipped over and jumbled up.

“Yeah, maybe another time. Funky Buddha’s not the kinda place you read a book though.” Louis looked up at Harry smiling, and he felt some relief. Louis hadn’t made fun of his books or his soft room or his strange collection of music. For once, it was going alright and Harry felt comfortable, letting someone in. It was like they shared a secret.


	3. Chapter 3

“So who’s the lad that walked off in my shirt?” Zayn placed the controller to his FIFA game on the couch cushion next to him. He had half a mind to ask Louis if something was going on between them but he knew the scowl on Louis’ face all to well. 

“Uh, name’s Harry..” Louis was leaning on the counter, glaring with thermonuclear energy at his cell phone on the counter. Zayn thought it might explode if Louis stared at it any longer so he got up and joined him in the kitchen grabbing a box of crackers in an attempt to distract Louis. 

“Interesting choice in shirts. I’m gonna peg you didn’t pick it out?” Zayn sat across from Louis at a bar stool. Louis still stood with his brow furrowed. 

“No… He, uh, picked it out himself. Is that weird?” Louis looked confused, not in a bad way. But a pleasantly surprised way. Zayn just chuckled lightly and continued eating his crackers, unaware of what was really going on. 

“No it’s not weird.” He gave him a disapproving frown for a second but it passed. Zayn was opened minded. Almost too open minded. “You should talk to him, dude.” Zayn gave him a rough slap on the back and started down the hall towards his bedroom. “I’ve got a charity event at the museum, by the way, we’re going to Funky Buddha tonight with the guys. You should ask Harry to come.” 

“You and my sister both.” Louis muttered and ran a hand through his messy hair. It was getting long but he couldn’t be bothered to make an appointment. He’d bug Zayn to do it this weekend. 

When Harry had handed his phone back to Louis after texting himself, he had initially put it in his pocket. But curiosity killed the cat, and Louis, and  he had quickly paged back to the message. In neat iPhone font and perfect grammar, Harry had texted himself.

 

You’re cute.

 

Is all it said. Louis had half a mind to ask him if he had meant Louis was cute or if he implied Louis knew he was cute. It seemed a bold thing for Harry to do, but Louis was learning to roll with the surprises Harry offered. He quite liked them. He stared at his phone for a few minutes, biting the pathetic nail on his thumb before he clicked his phone back to life and re-entered the conversation. His heart was racing but he was never a patient person and he although he didn’t know if he was supposed to be waiting for a response from Harry, he texted him again anyway. 

 

And I mean it:) 

 

He typed it quickly, so his thumbs couldn’t change their mind and slickly locked his phone, putting it back into his pocket with a sigh of relief. It was done and over with. For now.  

“Liam and Niall are gonna swing by before they hit the train over to the museum. I think around 8:30 but be ready. Please wear a coat, it’s cold out. I wasn’t all that thrilled when you gave my boyfriend a cold last time you didn't wear one.” Zayn blew him an exaggerated kiss and Louis caught it with an eye roll. Zayn was passively protective over Liam but it didn’t bother him. He knew he only wanted the best for him and Louis was almost jealous that he didn’t have anyone himself to look after. He missed taking care of his sisters, who would have thought.  

Louis had a little over two hours to mull around by himself and he sat on the sofa, fidgety. He wasn’t used to being alone and the apartment was too quiet, even with the heat running and the refrigerator making it’s unusual gargling sound. He turned on the TV and tried to avoid checking his phone. 

He caved after one commercial break. There were no messages and there was a twang in his chest. This was an unusual feeling. He had gotten his hopes up and they were slowly making the terrifying descent. Louis felt like he was being dragged along down with them, a hopeless follower without a parachute. 

At 8:13 Louis woke up with a crick in his neck, Niall and Liam peering over him, and an empty iMessage inbox. He really needed to pull the cord on the parachute but at this point there was no use. He was headed for a crash and burn. It was too late to ask Harry to come with them to Funky Buddha and Louis was perturbed he had fallen asleep, though Harry didn't text him back so maybe it didn't matter.

“C’mon, Lou. We’re late.” Niall poked him and stepped side to side eagerly. Louis rubbed the sleep from his head, clearing the fog, and stood up. Liam and Niall were already halfway to the door and Louis was following when he realized Zayn’s comment about a coat. He looked around but knowing Niall and Liam were ready to go, pushed the comment to the back of his head. He’d suffer through it. He probably wouldn’t even get sick.

“Some lad Harry is comin’ along with us.” Liam told them in the dull silence of the train ride. Louis hadn’t been listening but a part of his brain clicked and he flicked his eyes up, catching Liam’s. “Zayn said you guys were friends.” Liam shrugged once. 

“Ha.” Is all Louis could manage. Were they friends? Is that what Harry had said or is that just what Zayn had said? He hadn’t even texted him back. Louis barely knew the Harry kid and although he’d like to be friends, _maybe even more by the looks of those deep green eyes_ , he couldn’t exactly say they were friends. It was only because Louis had spilled an entire mug of tea down Harry’s shirt did he even agree to come inside. He didn’t even know if Louis like guys. Although from his text, it seemed Louis might be lucky. He was usually good at picking guys out.

“Hmm.. Harry? What’s his last name.” Niall piped up, he had a finger on his chin, eyes to the ceiling, thinking. 

“Styles.” Louis answered a bit too quickly. 

“Ahh, like Harry Styles the first year?” Niall always remembered names, faces, and events better than the rest of the boys. At parties, Niall was always the first to approach people, leading the way for fear the rest of the them would embarrass themselves. 

“Yeah, I think so.” Louis said, he knew Niall was about to launch into a story and he was hungry for any information that could be offered up about the mysterious Harry Styles. 

“Oh geesh. What’s there to say..” Niall’s face was sour, like he didn’t want to say it out loud. “Poor guy.. Heard he tried out for the footie team at the beginning of the year but the boys found out he was… yah know.” Louis didn’t know. There was a pause that lasted almost a beat too. “Fruity? Didn't make the team. But then again, maybe he is in fact terrible at football.” 

He said it awkwardly, maybe because Niall was with two of his gay friends. Although, Louis wouldn't describe either Liam or himself fruity. Gay, yes, but not fruity. Harry on the other hand, could be described as fruity. Maybe it because he was the only one in their friend group who wasn’t gay. Maybe because they were on a train and it felt like he had just told a secret that was mean to be kept a secret. 

Louis felt like he’d just been punched in the stomach, thrown in front of a train, and perhaps waterboarded. The air was gone from his lungs, a burning sensation deep within. He was gutted and yet unbelievably angry at the entire football team. He silently vowed to cheer a little less quietly at their next match and have a word with the captains. He was popular, he saw them around often. Not only was he angry, he was sad. Sad that someone like Harry had to endure that ridicule. He seemed a nice enough guy, sweet, charming, and handsome. Not the type you’d see on the pitch, but that was just another surprise Harry had thrown his way. There was something else though, something beneath the rage and the sorrow. He felt like he was guilty for some reason. That wasn’t Niall’s secret to tell, although it barely seemed a secret. He felt like had intruded on Harry’s past. It didn’t seem fair. None of it seemed fair. No one should have hurt Harry and no one should ever hurt Harry. His heart ached and he suddenly felt like puking.

“Oh god.” Liam shook his head, a worried and sad look creasing over his face. Liam was the most mature of the guys, and he was always the one to know what to do. For a second he looked lost and Louis knew it was because he had gone through the same ridicule during his time in grade school. “Poor lad. Well he’ll fit right in with us I spose! Fruits!” He was back to his peppery optimistic self. 

Louis still felt ill but there wasn’t time to dwell on it, they had reached the museum stop and as they stepped onto the sidewalk, the damp air sobered him up. He nervously tugged a cigarette from his pack, lit up, and chewed on the end, careful not to blow smoke anywhere but up. It was a habit he was trying to cut, but his heart was racing too fast for his brain to stop him. It calmed the nervous shake in his fingers momentarily. He would try anything to keep his calm facade. 

From a distance, he spotted Zayn and Harry. Harry stood nearly four inches taller than Zayn. His hair was blowing gently and under the street lamp, he could barely make out broad shoulder, a sharp jawline, and pensive eyes. ‘ _His eyes’_ Louis thought. A shiver sent down his back and he hugged his bare arms. Was it the cold or the way Harry had locked eyes with him just now that send his body into a nervous panic? 

Before his frozen mind could wrap around what was happening, it was being cracked and moved along. His feet obeyed but his mind was somewhere else. He realized he was pacing along next to Harry, barely keeping up with the long lanky boy. If Harry was only a freshman, that would make him 18, maybe 19. Louis himself was 20 and in a few months he would be 21. Yet, Harry dwarfed Louis. For some reason, he felt comfortable next to Harry and staring at his shoes was all he could do to hid the childish grin that had taken over his face. His immense want to touch Harry, even brush his fingers, was deepened when Harry had given him his coat. ‘ _This isn’t the way it should be, I should be protecting you_ ’ he thought. But he took it anyway, because in truth, he was shivering and his lips were probably blue by now.  

Harry’s room was the furthest thing from Louis’ room and he made a mental note to clean his room before inviting Harry over. If he invited Harry over. His own room was loud and messy and dark. Exceptionally dark, compared to Harry’s own soft room with it’s neatly organized walls and overly plush blankets, pillows, and rugs. Maybe he should take a cue and buy hanging lights like Harry's. They were weird and something his sister would like, but they were comforting and soft. Like Harry. 

Harry’s walls were neat and organized. Square vinyl covers were neatly arranged on the wall, 5 x 5 across. His shoes were gently placed on the floor of his closet, parallel and perfectly straight. His desk was the same way, all the books aligned in height and covered in the same soft white paper covering, hiding the names of the books. There was a vase of flowers on a night stand, freshly cut and brimming with life. It was an odd thing to have, but Louis supposed it wasn’t an odd thing for someone to like natural flora when they wake up. 

Standing in Harry’s room waiting for Harry to get changed, Louis tried not to touch the book that was searing into his back. He had tucked it gently in the waist band of his boxers and it was snuck against the small of his back. It was the book Harry was reading this afternoon. His fingers itched to roam the pages of the worn book. What was it Harry had said it was? Oh yes, Oscar Wilde. Louis had heard of him before, but he wasn’t much of a poet. 

What Niall said earlier slowly crept into his mind like growing ivy but Louis pushed it back as far as he could, watching Harry as he quickly threw his shirt in the laundry and straightened his desk, scratching a note on a notepad. The notepad had hearts. But that didn’t bother Louis. He wanted to hug Harry and tell him he was sorry for the horrible things that had happened to him. He didn't know what those horrible things were, but he knew he was sorry Harry had to endure them. Louis realized how fragile he might be. It was stupid, but he couldn't help the looming feeling he had to protect Harry.

When Harry offered Louis the opportunity to take borrow a book, Louis almost let his jaw drop to the floor. Harry seemed so pensive and sweet, hesitantly offering up his books. He obviously valued their company quite a bit. The TV had a thin layer of dust over it, seemingly unused.

“Yeah, maybe another time. Funky Buddha’s not the kinda place you read a book though.” He tried his best to smile, masking the fact he had stolen one not moments before. He wanted punch himself for being so impatient. If only he had waited, Harry would have offered and he would have accepted, instead of leaving Harry with the torn look he has on now. 

Being in Harry’s room felt like a privilege he hadn’t deserved. A rare dessert and treat. He tried to savor it, but after accidentally stealing one of Harry’s admittedly favorite books, he felt like he was rudely invading Harry’s privacy. Eventually he had led himself out, aware that letting someone in his room was not something he did often. But standing there, in Harry’s over sized sweater, a book he had stuck in the back of his jeans, and the dim light illuminating the pale walls, felt like something Louis could get used to. He had half a mind to sit down in the plush window sill and read right then and there. But the boys were waiting their arrival at Funky Buddha and Louis knew better than to keep them. He silently pondered if adding a fifth boy to their montage would ruin the chemistry, but Louis knew it was a risk he was willing to take. It seemed the rest of the boys had silently agreed, he thought of it as a test drive, although the inhumanity of that made Louis slightly uncomfortable.


	4. Chapter 4

The club was dark, then light, then dark. The lights made Harry’s eyes fuzzy and his head was pounding from both the music and the two mixed drinks he’d had. He was trying in vain to keep up with the rest of the boy but it was an attempt that was failing miserably. Harry was trying his hardest to avoid gazing at Louis but his self control was melting more and more with every sip of his drink. He took a final gulp and stood up, the room spinning gently then all at once. He grabbed the booth for support. 

 

“I-uh, just getting some water.” Harry stood and made his way to the bar, grabbing a glass of ice water and drinking it slowly. It was instant relief and he chewed on the ice chunks happily. From across the club he could see Niall and a blonde girl along with Zayn and Liam and Louis. _Louis._

 

Harry watched hesitantly as Louis grabbed another beer from the ice bucket. It was his sixth beer. He’d been counting. Niall was on his seventh, although unfaultered. Zayn was drinking some fizzy drink, only his second. And Liam was on his third rum and coke. Even from by the bar Harry could hear his laugh. Or he thought he could. He’d like to imagine that’s Louis’ stomach clenching, cheek breaking laugh. For a few seconds, or minutes, who knows, Harry watched, leaning across against the cold wall. It was relief being in a corner by himself. He felt he needed to reenergize here if he wanted to keep up for the rest of the night. It was only 12 and he knew the night was no where near end. 

 

Harry’s eyes strayed back to Louis. His blue eyes, hooded by long brown eye lashes. The way his hands curled around the bottle of beer in his hand. The death way he put his soft lips to the lip of the bottle. He wanted to touch his lips but had instead put his hands deeper in his pockets. Harry knew full well this wasn’t his scene, but he desperately wanted it to be. Especially if it was Louis’ scene. But the number of people in the club was overwhelming. Their sweaty bodies all touching, hands raised, drinks tilted back down throats, hands wandering over curves.

 

Harry finished the remainder of his water and started to make his way back to the booth. But the DJ had started to announce another set and people were moving quickly and Harry was pushed back out of the way. He felt someone clip his shoulder and he stopped dead in his tracks. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming. The stench almost too much for him to handle. He remembered that smell all to familiarly. Suddenly the hot mixture in his stomach threatened to make its way out. His breath caught in his throat and he felt his hands started to sweat. Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a second, willing his equilibrium to come back. Now was not the time or place for a panic attack. He counted to ten and opened his eyes, just like the doctors had told him. It didn’t work. He felt the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. 

 

“Shit. Shit. No no no. Not here.” Harry pulled at his hair and searched in vain for the nearest exit. It was only 20 yards away. About twenty five steps if Harry made a bee-line that was uninterrupted. He started took one deep breath and started to count down, stepping as well. 

 

“One.. Two.. Three..” The room was spinning ferociously, threatening to crumble and fall into oblivion. _This is not good. This is very bad. This is very very bad._ He repeated to himself. “Fifteen. Sixteen.” He was walking faster but not fast enough. His breathing was labored and he was reaching in front of him, grabbing at who knows what. 

 

Just as the room began to fuzz and the air in his lungs evaporated, he felt an arm around his waist. It pulled him in, tighter, closer. It was warm and gripped the side of his hip hard. Harry felt hot tears stream down his face. He needed fresh air, and fast. 

 

“Harry, breathe. In, out. C’mon Harry.” The voice called to him. He tried to breathe in and in like it told. In. Out. In. Out. Repeat. He realized his eyes were clamped shut and he opened them wearily. 

 

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay.” Louis was clutching him. They were sitting in the lobby of the club. A few onlookers threw worried glances their way but Harry didn’t care. He was heaving, sobbing, silently, his head in Louis’ chest. He could smell his cologne and the rich smell of.. Louis. 

 

Thankful for the dark, Harry rubbed his swollen red eyes and put his head between his knees, pull into himself. His cheeks were hot with embarrassment. What a way to scare someone off. He shook his head back and forth, wishing it were a dream yet knowing it wasn’t. He didn’t want to look Louis in the eye or go back inside, he wanted to go _home_. 

 

“It’s okay. I’ll get your stuff.” It was like Louis had read his mind and he nodded once, taking a slow glance up at Louis who had bounded through the doors and inside. He returned with Harry’s sweater and his own borrowed sweater. He tucked something in the back of his jeans but Harry was too tired, emotionally and physically, to ask what it was. 

 

Without a word, Louis helped Harry up by the waist, once again. He put his arm around him, both out of support and yearning for the touch of his skin. It was hot on his own and on contact he felt Louis flinch but he was too tired to do anything about it. 

 

“Gave me quite a scare.” Louis muttered as they walked to the curb. Louis hailed a cab and they both climbed in. It was a silent agreement that taking the tube wasn’t the best option at this point. Harry was grateful someone had come to his rescue. His mind wandered aimlessly back to what would have happened if he had crumbled in the night club. Maybe no one would have noticed. Or maybe they would have thrown him out, that may have been a relief.

 

“I’m sorry Louis.” Harry rested his temple on the glass of the taxi as it sped off, leaving Funky Buddha and the racking nightmare of it behind. “I’m so-so sorry.” He repeated the mantra. It was almost a cry. 

 

“It’s okay. Harry, it’s not your fault. You’re okay, that’s all that matters.” Louis slipped off his seat belt and put an arm around Harry. He was sure he was doing it just to be nice but it felt good. Harry’s face was flush with embarrassment but he was beyond the point of caring. He wanted to curl into bed with a cup of tea and drift away. Away from all the events of today. 

“I, I should call Gemma.” Harry stuttered, reaching desperately to his pocket to fish out his phone. He pushed a button but it remained black. Cursing himself for forgetting to charge his phone, he turned to Louis. 

 

“Could I use your phone?” Harry asked Louis. Louis looked at him with bewilderment. He had half a mind to think that Gemma was Harry’s girlfriend. Bewilderment turned to anguish as he took out his own phone. Although now he knew why Harry hadn’t texted him back, a new knot formed in his stomach. 

 

“Hi, Gemma.. N-no. I’m fine.. Please don’t call mom.” Harry let out soft sobs. “I’m fine, please.. Stay with your friends. I’ll be fine.. I just need to sleep..” 

 

Louis relaxed in his seat again. _Gemma must be his sister_ , he figured. _What a relief._  

 

Harry hung up the phone and held it out to Louis. As Louis took it, their fingers brushed momentarily and they both looked up in amusement then looked the opposite direction. There was a heavy awkward silence among them but it was cut off by the taxi pulling up to the curb of Harry’s apartment. 

 

Harry tried to give the driver money but Louis refused him, forcing him up the steps to the house. Harry thought momentarily that Louis was going to leave him but immediately felt Louis come up behind him. He placed a gentle hand on his back, guiding him softly through the doors. 

 

“Climb in bed, I’ll make you some tea.” Louis whispered. He seemed almost as shaken up as Harry, his cheeks pale and his eyes furrowed in worry. 

 

Harry didn’t object but he looked worried over his shoulder. He almost put up a fight but instead let out a soft giggle as he watched Louis peer into the top cabinet shelves. Watching from the doorway of his bedroom, he weakly grinned to himself. Louis had put his sweater back on and it hung loosely from his small frame. 

 

“Bed.” Louis whisper snapped at him and he responded with a scrunch of the nose but begrudgingly entered his room. It was tidy and primp and neat. He had almost too much space to himself. It was nearly 1 am and the walls looked barren. He wished he had a picture of Louis to hang up. He would have to get his cameras out later. It’d been a while since he had visited those storage boxes. _Not since after the incident at school._

 

Harry slipped his shoes off, putting them in line with his other shoes. Next, he removed his sweater and shirt, replacing them with an old Rolling Stone tshirt. Last, he took off his jeans and folded them neatly, placing them in the chair. As he was crawling into bed, he heard Louis swear and drop something but before he could jump out of bed, Louis was walking through his doorway. Harry thought ironically to himself that if Louis had spilled, that would have been twice today. 

 

“Not sure how you like it.” Louis said under his breath. He placed the tray on Harry’s night stand next to the flower and sat at the foot of the bed. Harry noticed his eyes were dilated and his cheeks were red. Faintly, he remembered that Louis had drank six beers. He was still drunk. At least some color had returned. 

 

“Aren’t you drunk?” Harry asked incredulously. Louis laughed lightly and he looked young, looked his age. The creases in the corners of his eyes depend and he threw his head back a little. 

 

“Yes, Harry. But I’m much better off than you, love.” The last part slipped out and he clapped a hand over his mouth then continued laughing. That’s the beauty of being drunk. It doesn’t matter when you’re drunk if you do something stupid, it’s the illusion of courage that keeps you coming back. A gentle smile spread over Harry’s lips, not reaching his tired eyes, and he sipped from the strong black tea. He didn’t mind it. However Louis made it is how he would drink it. 

 

He remembered in grade school how he and his friends had stolen liquor from his parent’s cabinet and drank with Archie’s older brother. He was much too old to be drinking with 16 year old’s but at the time they didn’t care, it was cool back then. 

 

He smiled at the memory then remembered what Dave had said to them when Harry had asked why it tasted so disgusting. He’d gone silent for a long while then looked Harry straight in the eye pensively replying, “ _You don’t drink it because it tastes good, you drink shit like juice for the taste, Harry.. You drink alcohol to rid yourself of the awful taste that every bad person in you life has left._ ” It was profound and Harry thought he could still hear the way he spoke clearly and precise, like he wanted Harry to have it engrained in his head. He’d passed out later that night on the futon and woken up puking in the bathroom. 

 

Harry shuttered, his face going flush. Louis frowned at him but Harry quickly took a sip of tea to hide his face. Harry wondered if Louis drank to forget the awful taste of bad people. He didn’t want Louis to drink for that reason. Although, he wasn’t sure if he wanted Louis to drink for any reason other than the giggly boyish smile that was taking over his face right now. 

 

“I think you should sleep. I may be drunk, but you do not look too good. Kinda pale.” Louis placed a hand on Harry’s forehead and Harry closed his eyes gently, letting his whole body feel Louis’ gentle hand. He could smell Louis and he inhaled deeper.

 

“Who, am I kidding you’ve looked good since I first laid eyes on you.” Louis muttered and tried to stand up, but wobbled and fell with a fit of laughter onto the bed. Harry tried to stop his jaw from falling onto the floor but he couldn’t help but wonder what Louis was talking about _the first time I laid eyes on you_. Was there more times? He would have to ask in the morning, if Louis was still here. He hoped he would be there when he woke up.

 

Harry didn’t know what to do with Louis who was laying at the foot of his bed, entirely too still. He sat up and poked him, scared for a moment, but Louis only stirred gently. _Holy shit, he’s fallen asleep on my bed._ Harry gently eased him up next to him, grateful for such a large oversized bed, and slipped his shoes off one by one, dropping them on the floor. He pulled the extra blanket from the foot of the bed, over Louis, not sure if he would be comfortable sleeping under the same covers as him. 

 

Under the glow of the soft lights, Harry admired Louis’ soft features. While he was asleep, they were less animated and looked much younger. His soft brown hair curled around his pink ears and down the cape of his neck. Harry reached over and swept a loose strand of hair back with the rest of Louis’ perfectly trimmed fringe and as he did, his fingers swept over his forehead. In response, Louis rolled over, murmured “Harry, night Harreh-“ and fell back into drunken stupor. His features went soft once again.

 

Hearing Louis say his name made his smile, he wasn’t sure he’d heard him say it yet. Satisfied with himself, Harry switched on the tv, setting it to low as not to disturb Louis. Turning off his light and plugging in his phone, he curled up under the covers, sure to give Louis his space. And with that, he too fell into a weary slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

Louis woke to a the taste of bile, a raging headache, and a large empty bed that wasn’t his. He sat up quickly, the room spinning like a merry-go-round. His stomach threatened to empty its contents. Rushing for the bathroom, Louis realized he was still at Harry’s. He’d planned to go home but it looked like six beers didn’t agree.

Sprinting desperately down the hall, Louis found the bathroom and keeled over in front of the toilet, just barely making it. A horrible gagging ensued and he cursed himself, angry he had let himself drink on an empty stomach and a heavy conscious. He placed his forehead on the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl, aware of how disgusting it may be. But just as Harry’s room, the bathroom was pristine also. It smelled of fresh soap, fresh flowers, and nail polish.

“Louis? Are you alright?” Harry was quickly kneeling next to him, a hand on his shoulder. Harry massaged it softly, loosening the tenseness Louis didn't know had been there. Before Louis could mutter anything back, more alcohol was pouring out of him, leaving him heaving and breathless. This was not the way he had imagine his night going. Was it even night? He had no recollection of what time it was.

“What time is it?” Louis groaned into the toilet bowl.

“Four twenty-one.” Harry handed him a damp wash cloth for his face and rubbed his hand gently in circles on Louis’ damp from sweat back. He couldn't help but hide the fear and bewilderment on his face. Louis was too weak and tired to lift himself from the floor so he sat for a few minutes. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this sick. He desperately wanted a cigarette but there was no way in hell he was going to ask Harry if he could have a smoke.

“Here.” Harry lifted Louis gently, setting him on the edge of the large whirlpool bathtub. Ensuring that he wasn’t going to topple backwards, he placed a cold glass of orange juice and two Advil in the palm of his hand. He knelt in front of Louis, searching for his eyes.

Louis’ cheeks were flush with embarrassment and the faint notion that Harry was taking care of him when he had come with the intent to take care of Harry. Grudgingly, he took the Advil and let himself savor the fresh cold orange juice. It rid the taste in his throat and for the first time he looked Harry in the eye. He was still sitting in front of Louis, his face furrowed in concern.

“Sorry I woke you up.” Louis muttered. His stomach still gurgled ruthlessly and he prayed the orange juice didn’t come up. No doubt it would taste worse coming up than going down.

“S’fine. I was already awake.” Harry picked at his right index finger, chipping at the clear coat of nail polish he hoped Louis didn’t see. Louis remembered waking up in an empty bed.

“Why were you up?” Harry looked into Louis’ eyes, wary of telling him he had been up for a while, playing piano. He wasn’t able to sleep, but it wasn’t unusual. Harry decided it wasn’t the time or place to burden Louis. He had just spent a grueling fifteen moments spilling his guts, literally, and it seemed a conversation too heavy for the bathroom floor and Louis’ fragile stomach. Although he desperately wanted to tell Louis to stay away from him, he wanted Louis so badly it ached, He just couldn't push him away. Not yet.

“Just couldn’t sleep. C’mon, let’s get you back to bed Lou.” Harry enveloped Louis into a side hug and lead him back to his bedroom, making sure he was tucked fervently within the large plush comforters. He climbed in next to him, flicking the lights off once again. The TV was the only thing that illuminated the room, but Harry didn’t acknowledge it for a few seconds. He was too busy praying to god he wouldn't get a hard on because there was a beautifully hungover boy in his bed.

“Do you mind the sound? I, uh, sleep with it on.. White noise.” Harry whispered into the dark, not particularly to Louis.

“I don’t mind.” Louis curled up, facing away from Harry. He clutched his stomach, holding it so maybe it wouldn't rebel against him again. There was a long silence as they both laid there, wondering vacantly what the other was thinking.

Louis rolled over onto his back and glanced at Harry in the dark. His eyes had somewhat adjusted. Harry was staring at the ceiling, a lost look on his face. Louis wanted to reach over and smooth the crease in his brow but last time Louis had reached for Harry, Harry had flinched back. Louis got the fleeting feeling Harry didn’t like to be touched, even a brush on the shoulder seemed upsetting. Louis thought back to the long day they had had.

“You didn’t text me back, ya know.” Louis said dryly. A slow grin spread over Harry’s lips. Even in the dark Louis could tell they were a bright pink, like he had jus been kissed. Louis wouldn’t ind being the one who made Harry’s lips pink.

“I’m sorry. I don’t use my phone much, Louis. Plus, some knob spilled tea on me and I was nearly late for my interview. Then I went out for the first time in months and had a panic attack.” It almost sounded sarcastic but Louis knew it was only the cold truth. Harry rolled onto his side to face Louis who was still laying on his back. “What did you say?”

Louis flushed with embarrassment but the last drops of alcohol were still cursing through his veins and he answered anyway. It was dark, maybe Harry wouldn’t recognize his brash embarrassment.

“Just confirmation that you _are_ cute.” If you could wear your heart on your sleeve, Louis would be wearing it as a sweater with neon lights and maybe some bells. It made him slightly unnerved but he waited in an answer. Louis hadn't had a proper relationship since Eleanor and everyone knew that didn't end well.

“Oh.” Harry whispered to him. Harry traced the outline of Louis’ face in the dark. The way his forehead curved down into the gently arched eyebrows and straight nose. Louis’ lips were pursed, thinking, and Harry could feel the heat of his body next to him. It felt good, warm and welcoming.

Harry didn’t have anything left to offer out. He knew what Louis had said was a step in the right direction, but Harry was used to standing still. His mind whirled around. No one had ever called him cute. Should he say he’s cute back? Louis wasn’t cute though, he was god damn _beautiful_. Harry didn’t have the courage to say that though. He turned to his now charged phone on the bend table, his back facing Louis. He flicked his fingers over the screen to Louis’ messages.

**I think you’re beautiful.**

Being behind the glass screen gave Harry the false confidence he needed, the same liquid courage Louis had been slurping down all night.

Louis’ phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, expecting it to be one of the guys. Maybe he could call one of them to come get him. The bed suddenly felt too small for both of them, all traces of comfort vanishing with Harry’s empty ‘Oh’.

But instead, it was a message from Harry. Louis grinned and turned back to Harry who was curled away from him. He couldn’t contain the stupid smile that was making his cheeks hurt. He let out a content sigh and wrapped an arm around Harry, pulling him close. Although the younger was much larger, Louis felt an overwhelming feeling he had to protect him.

“Goodnight Harry.” Louis whispered as he drifted off, spooning Harry. If he had looked at the younger boy, he would have seen the same foolish grin plastered on his rosy lips.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry ran a hand through his disheveled hair and entered the luminous oversized glass doors of the museum. It was it first day and he was ten minutes early. 

 

“You must be Mr. Styles.” A shorter red haired man greeted him, grabbing his hand tightly in his own. His fingers were calloused but strong. Much stronger than his face would imply. 

 

“H-Harry. You can call me Harry.” The man just grinned at him and nodded once, guiding the way through the museum atrium. Harry fixed his shirt. It was blue with white polkadots. Gemma had picked it out this morning despite Harry thinking it was a bit too femme for his first day. 

 

Every since the incident at school, Harry had tried to dress in a way that had reflected what he thought people wanted to see. His print shirts had been stored in boxes along with his head scarves and most of his body scrubs. It was a pale attempt at keeping the real Harry hidden. Maybe if he was what people wanted him to be, he could fool himself. It was foolish, but it was all Harry knew. 

 

“My name’s Ed. Mr. Westwick is busy so I told ‘em I’d help you out.” Harry licked his lips nervously. He could faintly taste the coconut lip gloss he had stolen from Gemma this morning. It was comforting but he quickly wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, afraid he may still have gloss on them. He had been preparing for the stout Hamlet Westwick all weekend. Suddenly, he didn’t have a clue how to handle the playful blue eyed Ron Weasley looking kid in front of him. 

 

“Don’t be so nervous, lad. I promise I don’t bite.” Ed gave him a friendly nudge with his elbow and continued their journey down a hall line with beautiful black and white photos. They were only for decoration but they look expensive none the less. 

 

“So, first order of business.” Ed’s soft face twisted and he worked a name tag onto Harry’s chest. He took considerable worry in not stabbing Harry with the safety pin. Harry stood nearly three inches taller than Ed and he couldn’t help but feel oddly inadequate next to him. Although he was wild looking with spiked hair and a little red stubble on his chin, Ed looked comfortable and slick in his all black dress shirt and pants. He was wearing black Converse and Harry got the feeling no one minded if _he_ dressed like he had strolled out of a uni course. Harry made a mental note that maybe people at the museum didn’t care how you dressed. This was his first proper job and he already liked it.

 

“I don’t even work here. Technically.” Ed muttered to himself but flashed a boyish grin at Harry. His face must have been horrifying because Ed immediately elaborated. “I play the music and stuff. Piano, guitar, I’ve tried the harp but these arms are too short.” He wiggled his arms in front of him wildly and let out a belly rumbling laugh. Harry liked his company. 

 

“You could do though.” He pulled jokingly at Harry’s arm grabbing it by the wrist and stretched it out. Harry was lankier than he’d like, with broad shoulders and toned arms. His fingers were long and slender, imprints where he normally wore rings but had removed them this morning. Gemma told him they made his fingers look _girly._ His arms were covered in tattoos but hidden by his long blue and white print sleeves. He didn’t think tattoos were acceptable but he peeked at Ed’s colorful arm sleeve peeking under from the rolled up sleeve. Ed seemed the exception to every social stereotype and rule. Harry wished he was as brave as Ed, he wished he could be himself. 

 

“I’ve never tried playing the harp.” He furrowed his eyebrows. He only knew how to play the piano and it wasn’t something he shared with people. But there were a lot of things Harry had never tried. In his journal, there was an extensive list of things Harry wanted to try. But it was mostly a list of things he would probably never tried. 

 

“We’ll have to work on that then. But back to business, mate. You requested working with the kids so you’ve gotten a spot on the children’s tour. It’s a mighty blast if you ask me!” Ed started to walk away and Harry had to stride to catch up. 

 

“Don’t worry, it’s easy. Mostly just the planetarium and children’s interactive art stuff.. That’s the only fun stuff anyway.” Ed winked at Harry and Harry tried to hide cheeks that were hot with embarrassment. 

 

“Here’s your tour plan. Should take about an hour, kids don’t have much of an attention span. They start with the planetarium and end with finger painting. That’s my favorite part.” He handed him a folder with information and a script that Harry presumed he had to recite at each station on the tour. 

 

He had requested working with children because children never judged. They had minds made of play dough, soft and plyable. They didn’t lie or judge you. They didn’t sneer at you for wearing nail polish or ask you why you smelled like a girl. They were easy to get along with and for some reason, Harry got along best with kids. 

 

Ed guided him through the tour plan and let Harry stay quiet. He didn’t seem to have a problem talking to himself and at Harry. Harry was glad he didn’t have to form sentences, it all was a bit overwhelming for his first day. By the time four o’clock rolled around, Harry was puckered out. 

 

“Wanna go down to the pub with me and a few lads?” Ed was pulling on his coat and he turned to Harry. 

 

“I-Uh..” Harry had been hoping Louis would call him after their weekend but so far there hadn’t been anything. “Yeah, sure. That sounds nice.” 

 

Harry smiled fondly at remembering their weekend. They had slept in until nearly noon and then had breakfast at his breakfast nook. Gemma had stayed at her friends for the weekend and Harry had the flat to himself to do as he pleased. He had cooked them a continental breakfast the next morning and Louis had woken up with a large smile plastered to his face. It was all very domestic. When it was time to leave, Louis gave Harry a peck on the cheek and promised to call on Monday after his classes. Harry had pretended not to notice Louis sneaking his Oscar Wilde book into the waist band of his jeans. He was all too happy to let Louis take his favorite book. 

 

“Another round mates?” Ed’s friend John stood up, wobbling slightly, and headed to the bar without waiting for their answer. For the second time in five days, Harry was surrounded by a group of people he didn’t know. His bubble was stretching dangerously towards it’s maximum capacity. 

 

Ed’s friends were just as friendly and bubbly as Ed, joking about and telling stories about their time at University. Ed was 21, a few years older than Harry, and had dropped out of school to play music and work full time. He seemed like the type of guy Harry’s mom would approve of, even if he swore a little too much and drank a beer a little too fast. 

 

“You got a girlfriend, Harry?” One of Ed’s friends asked. Harry forgot his name. He had dark stubble and a square jaw, but soft brown eyes. He seemed genuinely interest, not joking and although Harry was apprehensive to talk about this kind of thing, he got the impression Ed wasn’t like the gradeschool boys. 

 

“Errr..” Harry stammered for a second. Ed put an arm around him and laughed. 

 

“Hey now, if Harry doesn’t wanna tell you it’s none of your business, Jenks!” The man’s name was Jenkins. Jenkins put his hands up in defense, a silly smile plastered over his face. He really meant no harm. 

 

“No, I-uh, it’s fine Ed.” Harry took a long drink of his greet martini, preparing himself for ridicule. “But to answer your question, no I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

 

“A handsome lad like you, eh? I bet the fellas drop their knickers for you.” John piped in without missing a beat. Harry barely understood him with his thick Irish accent. 

 

“You’re embarrassing the boy, John. Leave him be.” Ed patted Harry on the shoulder, reassuringly. He didn’t seem to notice the tenseness in Harry’s shoulders or the way he was nervously chewing his cheek.

 

“I shoulda know, your drink is a bit camp.” Jenks winked at Harry and the rest of the guys joined in making soft jokes. 

 

Laughing and looking around at them, Harry realized for the first time that the jokes weren't out of cruelty, but out of pure jest. They weren’t saying these things to make him feel bad, but as friends, who had accepted that he was not like them. Harry felt like his skin loosened a little, the tight norms he was usually projected against breaking a bit. He felt like he had made a small crack, if not a dent, in the high fortress that protected him. And he knew it was for the better.


	7. Chapter 7

In the scatter of waking up thirty minutes late and nearly missing the bus across town to campus, Louis had left his phone on his night stand. He had been eyeing it all weekend, waiting for the perfect opportunity to text Harry but nothing had occurred. Now it was 10 a night and he was sure Harry was convinced he had blown him off. 

 

Hauling into his flat and practically sprinting past Niall who just watched him from the kitchen, puzzled, Louis grabbed his phone from the table. He turned it on, hoping to have at least one missed call or message from Harry. Anything from Harry would be nice. 

 

Louis sat and stared at it for five minutes, hoping the messages were just stalling and slow. Another minute passed and Louis fell back onto his bed. He felt terrible. He could imagine the grim horror in Harry’s eyes and how let down he felt. Harry didn’t deserve this. 

 

“What’s wrong with you.” Niall said bluntly. He was stirring a bowl of half melted ice cream methodically. Louis gave him a weird look. Niall was the only person who purposely melted their ice cream so they could drink it out of a straw. His eating habits were disgusting. 

 

“You’re gross. I think I accidentally blew Harry off. I told em I’d text him after class but I forgot my phone and now he’s probably mad at me.” Louis put his forehead against the cold tile countertop. Maybe if he smashed his head hard enough, he could expel all the guilt from his system. 

 

“Why don’t you just call him and tell him that then?” Niall slurped his ice cream. 

 

Louis just groaned, it seemed too easy. He didn’t want Harry to feel like he had ditched him, because he really hadn’t. He’d been trying all day to get home as soon as possible but when his maths teacher asked him to help tutor after school at the learning center, he couldn’t turn him down. He needed the extra credit and the kids always appreciated him so much. It was nice to have someone that depended on him so much. Plus, they reminded him of his sisters. 

 

“I’m rubbish.” Louis stalked to the porch with his cigarettes and his phone. It was a cool night and it took of the edge of his anxiety. He imagine Harry, confused and lost like he was the other night. He had been so frazzled, hands pulling anxiously at his hair, hot tears streaming down his perfect cheeks. Louis never wanted to hurt Harry and just the thought made his skin crawl. So he took a seat on the patio and dialed Harry’s number, hoping he could explain himself. 

 

“Hello?” Harry’s voice was groggy and it sounded like he had been asleep. 

 

“Harry? It’s Louis. I’m really sorry I didn’t call you,” The words came gushing out of him like a volcano all at once. “I left my phone at home and I know I said I’d call after classes but I couldn’t get home and then my professor asked me to help tutor at the center and I just got home to my phone. I’m so sorry Harry.” 

 

“S’alright Lou. I understand. How was your day?” Harry’s voice was high and soft. If there was an angel, it would sound exactly like Harry’s I’ve-just-woken-up voice. He was so patient and Louis praised the Gods above that he didn’t sound even the least bit upset with him. In fact, he was asking _him_ how his day was. He didn’t deserve this treatment. 

 

“Oh, fine, besides leaving my mobile at home. Otherwise it was fine. I had a test in world history, but it went fine. How was your day Harry?” 

 

“Had my first day of work at the museum. It went really well. There’s this guy named Ed, he’s a real joker. I think we’ll get on really well. I even went out to drink with him and his friends after work.” Harry sounded happy but Louis couldn’t help but feel that maybe Harry wasn’t as interested as he had assumed. Maybe Harry had gone out and completely forgotten for Louis’ call. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t texted or called him. 

 

“That’s nice. I’m really glad your first day went smoothly. I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

 

“S’okay, Lou. I knew you’d call.” Louis was smiling from ear to ear now. “Tell me about the center?” Harry sounded blissful. 

 

“Oh, it’s boring, you don’t want to hear about it.” Louis said. 

 

“I don’t mind, Lou. Might not care to hear about the center, but I do want to hear your voice.” It was then that Louis’ heart almost shattered to a billion shards. Harry was quite effectively getting at him. Before he knew it, it was passed midnight and Louis was still sitting on his balcony blubbering on while Harry agreed with him with small ‘mhmm’s and ‘continue’s. 

 

Louis’ Mom always warned about this kind of thing. She said one day he would fall for a pretty girl who made his heart skip. Louis was always convinced it wouldn’t happen to him, mostly because he wasn’t interested in falling in love with _girls_. By the time he said goodnight to Harry nearly a hundred times and promise promise _promised_ he would text him tomorrow, he was convinced his Mom was right. 

 

Louis sat on the balcony for a while after he had hung out the phone. He let his head roll back and he took a look at the stars. They were impossibly bright tonight and although he wasn’t keen on superstition or miracles and fate, he knew in the pit of his stomach, something had miraculously gone in his favor. He was ever grateful to the Gods above for blessing him with this curly haired boy who listened to his football stories and played his favorite tracks for him over the phone. Louis decided then and there that he was going to do whatever it took to get Harry to love him. He didn’t just want it, he _needed_ it.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry woke up to the smell of burning bacon. He sat up with a lurch, panic searing through his veins. This meant Gemma was cooking, and that was to be avoided at all costs. 

 

“Gemmmmaaa.” Harry threw back the covers and rushed to the kitchen, nervous he’d find a fire. He’d just bought new teflon pans and Gemma wasn’t to be trusted with them. She knew better than to try to cook. It always ended in smoke and bad take out meals. And it was much too early to order takeout. 

  
Gemma was frantically waving her hands in the air, trying to dispel the smell and the dangerous smoke that was wafting through the flat. Harry could see the steam and smoke in the sunlight that was streaming through the large open window panes. He opened them, letting the smoke out and fresh air in. 

 

“What are you doing?” Harry grabbed the pant and dumped the burned bacon in the trash, letting the oil drip slowly. Gemma had a mortified look on her face. 

 

“You know, I was trying to do something nice because I wasn’t here the other night when you came home. But we both know I can’t cook, not even sure why I tried.” She laughed lightly, something only Gemma could do after nearly burning down the kitchen. Gemma always managed to turn a terrifying situation into something Harry seems dot be able to handle. 

 

Harry remembered when he was five he had gotten separated from Gemma and his mom at the market. He had been busy sorting through a bucket a fruit and before he knew it, he was alone. Scared, he had gone and hid behind a crate. Somehow through all of the people, Gemma had found him and taken his hand, leading him to a bakery where she bought him a muffin and a cup of orange juice. When he was scared his mom would scold him for running of, Gemma had lied and told her she had taken him to the bakery for a treat. He never let go of her hand at the market again. Harry smiled to himself. 

 

“Egg on toast?” Gemma confirmed. She was on the phone with Bernie’s a breakfast delivery service they had discovered a few months ago. He nodded. They had nearly identical features, the same dark brown hair and bright pink lips that curled a little. When they smiled, they both had soft delicate dimples their mom used to poke when they laughed. 

 

“Yah know, sometimes it’d be nice to be able to do big sister things for you, Harry.” Gemma joined him on the couch where he was nursing a cup of coffee. He’d stayed up much later than he normally did on a Monday night. 

 

“You do, Gemma.”

 

“I can’t even make you bacon without nearly setting the place on fire.” She chuckled and laid her head back, looking at the ceiling fan as it circled. The smell of bacon still hung in the air. 

 

“I should have been here the other night.” Gemma said softly. Harry looked at her, but she kept her eyes on the fan. 

  
“I promised Mom I would look after you… But it seem you’re the one looking after me.” A smile fell onto her lips. Harry knew his Mom had demanded Gemma take care of him after he moved in. He was the baby of the family and he somewhat liked it. Only after the incident at UNI did he realize how much he missed his Mom but Gemma was as close as he’d get to her. 

 

Harry didn’t know how to tell Gemma that he had been okay after the other night. He didn’t even know how to tell her about Louis. It seemed more daunting than it should be, but Gemma could be very disapproving. And a part of her wanted to protect Harry after the incident. 

 

“Foods here!” Gemma hopped off the couch and ran to the door. Harry hadn’t heard the knock. When Gemma returned, she had put the food onto plates and set it gently on Harry’s lap. They ate in silence for a while.

 

“Who were you talking to last night?” Gemma asked in-between bites of egg. Harry nearly choked. 

 

“Uh, a friend.” 

 

“A friend? You giggle like that when you talk to all of your friends?” She made air quotations around the word ‘friends’ and smirked at him. There was a soft gaze in her eyes that almost made Harry want to tell her the truth. Almost. 

 

“Just the special ones, Gem.” He took her empty plate on top of his own and walked to the kitchen. She bounded behind him, eager like a puppy. 

 

“I just want to do the big sister thing, Harry. You never give me a chance to hate them and make them work for my approval. I just want to coddle you like a big sister.” 

 

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid, Gem. You don’t need to coddle me.” He scowled. 

 

“Oh, whatever. I’m sure he’s a nice guy. You deserve a nice guy, Harry.” She turned and retreated back to her room, leaving Harry standing slightly shocked and amused. They hadn’t ever talked about boyfriends and girlfriends, but Harry had the feeling she knew more than she let on. Gemma was smart, but she knew where the boundaries were. 

 

Harry went about his morning routine, replaying parts of his conversation with Louis in his head over and over like a broken record. A stupid smile sat on his lips, coy and all knowing. He had never talked on the phone with someone for two hours, none the less a boy. 

 

Louis had invited Harry over to watch the Doncaster game with the rest of the guys later tonight and he needed to mentally prepare himself. A few hours after the burned bacon, Harry stood in front of his closet, staring at the array of clothing, fully aware he did not own a Doncaster Rovers jersey. 

 

“Gemma, what the hell do I wear to watch a footie game?” He called out to her. She was down the hall in her own room listening to some hideous music. The music paused. 

 

“A sweatshirt?” She was leaning into his doorway with an interested look on her face. 

 

“Just a sweatshirt?” He asked. 

 

“Let me have a look.” She poked through his clothes, pulling out a plain grey sweatshirt and a pair of black jeans. “You don’t wanna look like you’re trying to hard.” She knew why he was nervous and walked out without another word. Why did she keep leaving conversations like this? Sure, Harry didn’t want to talk about it, but he also didn’t want to feel like Gemma knew more about his secrets than he did. Was he really that transparent?

 

Harry got dressed in the clothes his sister picked out and rushed out the door, a six pack of beer under his arm. He figured manly things included beer and a bit of football and he could do manly even if just for a bit, for Louis. 


End file.
